Trouble Is
by Kagerou-chan
Summary: OC/OC. Slash. On the USS Ishtar, Lieutenant Junior Grade Cassidy Perun and Lieutenant Grima Arason engage in a friendly argument over drinks, and when their captain shows up, things take a turn for the theatrical.


_"It only takes one drink to get me loaded. Trouble is, I can't remember if it's the thirteenth or fourteenth."__  
__--George Burns_

Lieutenant Junior Grade Cassidy Perun was not entirely sure when he realized he was drunk.

He was quite certain he had been mostly sober when he had started the debate over whether Bohr or Oppenheimer would win in a game of laser tag (obviously, he had sided with Bohr because the theory of complementarity is totally badass), but things had started getting fuzzy around then so maybe not.

Cass' friend Lieutenant Grima Arason downed another shot of whiskey and grimaced. "I remember the first time I drank whiskey, I thought it tasted like hospitals. My opinion hasn't changed."

For some reason, Cass found this to be excessively humorous. He chuckled and gave Grima an ungraceful shoulder slap that was met with a disgusted wince. "We just haven't educated your young palate yet, Grim. Give it a few more shots to sterilize your tongue into numbness. Hell, once you hit puberty, you might even find that you like it."

Grima glared at his friend. "'When the age is in the wit is out,' as Shakespeare said, which must mean you're witless, lieutenant junior!" He smirked, eyes dancing.

There was something compelling about the sparks in Grima's dark gray irises--like lightning flashing in a storm--then again, that might have been the alcohol talking. "Ah, ah, ah," Cass replied with a rather carelessly drunken and melodramatic wave of his hand, "but Shakespeare also said of youth that it is better slept through, 'for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, and fighting.' And being a lieutenant junior just means that I have less responsibilities and more fun."

Grima rolled his eyes at Cass' smug expression. "I do not see how this is proving your argument that I need to be educated by you in any way. All of the aforementioned activities are on your list of favorite pastimes, not mine. You may be older in years, but you have the mental maturity of a thirteen-year-old--one with a penchant for excessive libation."

Cass scoffed. "I am not thirteen! Seventeen, maybe, with a healthy thirst for knowledge, too, I might add!" He made another waffling motion with his hand. "And anyway, back to our _original_ topic, Oppenheimer would totally own Bohr in laser tag because…wait."He frowned, thinking. The whiskey might have reversed his polarity. Shit.

Obviously the solution was more whiskey. Maybe it would reverse it back.

Grima laughed at him, a mischievous grin on his face. "You're so drunk you can't even remember your own argument! Oh, priceless." A curvy shadow loomed over their table, darkening Cass' head. He looked up and peered shortsightedly into a busty chest. "Hi, Captain," he slurred only slightly.

Captain Wilhelmina Dagmar loomed over the messy, tangled sprawl of Cass' skinny body, taking in the snare of his long amber hair and the lopsided curve of his lips. Her cat-eye glasses glinted sharply. Completely ignoring Cass' greeting, she turned to Grima. "Whatever possessed you to drink with this degenerate, Grima? I thought you had better taste. Is that...? You pilfered whisky from that lush Finn in engineering! That _other_ lush in engineering, that is."

Cass sat up unsteadily at the comment. "How do you _know _these things? Must be those creepy glasses... They give you PSE... EP... Fuck."

Grima interrupted Cass out of impatience rather than mercy. "Sometimes, one must go slumming. Besides, I am only engaging in this bout of drunken debauchery for the entertainment value. Otherwise, I couldn't care less about such tasteless displays."

Wilhelmina cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? You're sloshed too! I don't think I've ever seen you with a hair of that bowl cut out of place. You are just _slightly_ less drunk and have more practice with _not being an idiot_."

Cass jerked up abruptly, knocking into the table, and only Captain Dagmar's quick fingers saved the decanter of whiskey from being sloshed as well. "I," he said, speaking slowly and as clearly as he could, given the circumstances, "Am not. An idiot."

"All the time," Grima finished for him. "It's true. He even occasionally remembers enough Shakespeare to quote at me. Though I think I beat him in that respect. Fair and square. Four squared. Square dancing. Fuck." He turned solemnly to the captain. "Fair enough, Captain. I am now most definitely…'sloshed.'"

Cass burst out laughing, somehow finding this pronouncement funny enough to warrant a slap on the table. His shot glass jumped. "I think that is the first time I've heard you even mention being drunk, Grim! What fine influence our captain has on you! Such honesty!"

"I think I should advise you that there is an 'a' in my name, Cassidy," was all Grima said in reply. Wilhelmina simply watched, arms folded across her chest.

"Ooh, I see! The high and mighty Lieutenant Arason wants to lecture _me!_ We-e-ll, Mister There-Is-An-'A'-In-My-Name, does that make it Agrim? Or how about Garim? Oh, I know. Griam!"

Grima glared indignantly, though it ended up looking more pouty than anything. "In that case, should I start calling you 'Dicy-ass'? That is one permutation of your name."

Flinging his finger out in Grima's general direction (his aim was slightly off due to the fact that the room's center of gravity was all wrong), Cass spouted in a properly theatrical, if slurred, voice, "Thou hast spurned my name and honor! You shall not escape without impunity! I challenge you to a duel!"

"Oh, no," Wilhelmina interjected, "you two will not be bleeding all over my ship. Besides, I don't think you could even figure out which end of the sword is for holding and which is for stabbing."

Cass tossed back his tangled red hair. "Psh, who said anything about swords? This is a _lightbulb_ duel."

Attempting a holier-than-thou look, which was ruined slightly by his boyish pout, Grima provided in a very pragmatic tone, "You can't duel with lightbulbs. They are entirely impractical weapons."

"I don't wanna _fight you_ fight you," Cass sighed loudly in exasperation, "I wanna have a lightbulb screwing-in contest thingie. You know, like in the jokes about how many people it takes and stuff."

"May I suggest that you wait until tomorrow to have such an intense duel?" Wilhemina suggested. "That is, a night of rest and then all hands on deck, so to speak."

Cass blinked a couple of times and then looked at her. "If you haven't been drinking, why do you sound like you have? I mean, your peech spattern is all wrong. I mean. Um. …Goddammit! My words fly up, but my thoughts remain below! Curse you, flaccid tongue."

"My, but you are quite the dramatic drunk, aren't you? And I never said I hadn't been drinking. Though I would say your speech pattern is more terminal than mine," she smiled wryly.

"A lightbulb duel…" Grima pondered absently. "What a strange mind you have, Cassidy."

Cass' eyelids drooped as his head did, but he jerked up with a glare. "We are not finished yet," he said, pointing erratically again. "You shall see such sights when we duel! _Such lightbulbs you will see!_"

"Oh, the incandescence," Grima deadpanned. "Come, Perun. I think it is time you slept the sleep of kings."

Cass tried to resist, but by now his limbs were heavy. Even his dramatic tendencies were outweighed by the suffocating velvet of sleep. "How did this happen so quickly?" he mused.

"You drank almost an entire decanter of whisky on an empty stomach. Based on your body mass, you really should have been comatose by now," Grima supplied with a far-off look that implied he was calculating things. The lieutenant had walked over and was now attempting to sling one of Cass' limp arms over his shoulder.

Grima's brow furrowed, and Cass decided that it was sort of adorable. He hadn't noticed until now, but, other than the strong nose, Grima had a rather feminine face—pretty really.

"Y'know, Grim. You're sorta purty. Y'have big, poufy lips and long eyelashes and you are sort of fuzzy and glowy 'round the edges…"

Wilhelmina snorted and covered her grin with a well-manicured hand, which earned a glare from Grima who was fighting to hold Cass up. "You know, I could use some assistance. He may be skinny, but he makes up for it in stubborn uncooperativeness."

As Wilhelmina rolled her eyes and moved to grab Cass' other arm, Cass continued on his tangent undeterred, "Really, y'know, if you were a girl, I'd totally—"

"Do _not_ complete that sentence, Cassidy. You are at my mercy. I reserve the right to drop you on your idiotic bum—"

Cass giggled, "You said 'bum!' Tha's so…so…Eng'lish!"

"That's because I grew up in England, you twat. Did the accent not give it away?"

Cass leaned more of his weight toward Grima, as he turned to look at him. It wasn't his fault that he almost ended up knocking Grim over when gravity was leaning with him. "You're so grumpy, Grim. Hehe, grumpy Grim. They both start with 'g.' I should write a song 'bout tha'. 'Cause I can play guitar ya know."

Filing that interesting tidbit away for a later analysis, Grima simply said, "Perhaps you should sleep on that one." Cass leaned his face in towards Grima's neck, actually trying _not _to push Grima over this time but having limited success with his motor functions obeying him. "Hmm," he mumbled, smelling Grima's neck. He couldn't quite tell, but it seemed to get a bit redder the closer he got to it.

"Grim," he said with drunken solemnity, "why… are you so… hrm… tasty-smelling?" He stopped, and then began to hum.

Grima started walking and encouraged Cass to walk with him despite the fact that it was more like dragging than walking. Grima had put in his all in the Academy, and he kept his strength well-honed despite his slight frame. The humming had now progressed to mumbling, and before Grima could put a stop to it, Cass had started to sing. Very drunkenly.

"_I knew a good man from London – and oh he was smelly_

_Like fresh morning coffee in front of the telly_

_He should've known his neck was so nice_

_Not hairy or scary or full of mice_

_But he never noticed, never looked twice_

_Just dragged me off to the gallows of bed and left me there, ohhhh…"_

At this point, Wilhelmina, who had been halfheartedly helping Grim in his efforts to drag Cass back to his room, burst out laughing. This set off an interesting chain of events. Cass tilted over, throwing his full weight against Grim, who had, in that instant, been lifting his foot to take a step. Thus, Grim found that he was unable to compensate for Cass' loss of balance, and they tumbled to the floor in a spectacular fashion.

Even worse, Grim ended up pinned to the ground by a body that seemed to be all pointy elbows and sharp knees.

"G'm off me!" Grim shouted, though it was mostly stifled by Cass' chest.

"Mmmm…" Cass only moved enough to straighten his limbs and snuggle, burrowing his nose in Grima's dark hair. "You're warm an' sweet and smell soft…or was it th'other way around? Can't 'member…" Cass trailed off contentedly. His breathing evened out, his weight on Grima got heavier, and a small smile crossed his face.

Grima heaved an inward sigh. Dead weight was so much more awkward than even half-dead, entirely drunk weight singing weird songs. He managed to extricate himself from under Cass, and straightened up, brushing invisible dust from his science uniform. The red of his face detracted from the rich blue of the fabric. Wilhelmina laughed.

"You two are perfect for each other," was all she said. She grabbed Cass' legs and motioned for Grima to grab his shoulders.

Grima glared at her all the way back to Cass' room.

When they reached Cass' quarters, they threw him on top of the bed—uniform and all. He mumbled "Grimmie," before commencing a soft, open-mouthed snoring. Wilhelmina and Grima made a quiet escape but paused in the hallway outside the room.

"I am going to pretend that this was all just a dream—a very long, very bad dream with tone-deaf singing for a soundtrack. Hopefully, I am drunk enough now that I will believe myself come morning. Do not disillusion me." Grima said this stiffly to wall in front of him, though the composure of his speech and expression was spoiled by the disarray of his appearance and the becoming shade of red flushing along his cheeks and neck.

Wilhelmina gave a bright and toothy smile."Whatever you say…'Grimmie.'"


End file.
